Afraid of the Dark
by Professor-Piggy
Summary: Rika has always been afraid of the dark. But there are all kinds of darkness, and some of them are much more addictive than others.


Rika Furude was afraid of the dark.

It sounded like an idiotic notion, even to her, but it was true. If she closed her eyes and cast her mind back, forced herself to remember, she could still remember huddling in her blankets, shaking like the scared brat she had been back then and whimpering like a starving kitten. She could remember Hanyuu, too, hovering beside her and singing her songs, telling her stories. Trying to make her feel safe. It hadn't worked, of course – Hanyuu had been every bit as useless then as she was now – and for a long time nothing had frightened that pathetic little girl more than the dark.

That wasn't fair. She knew it wasn't fair. It didn't matter – she needed something to focus on. Something to stop the shaking of her hands and chase the dreams away. Something to kill the whispers in the back of her head and keep her from screaming. That night. It had been a lifetime – more than a lifetime – since she had dreamed of that night. Of the darkness all around her, pressing down on her from all sides with no Hanyuu to be found, and the scream – Satoko's scream, cut short as it began – that pierced it. The sound had echoed in her ears as they had rushed up the stairs, each footfall hammering in time with her own heart.

She reached for the wine bottle with unsteadily hands, and a wave of panic washed over her when she found nothing. Of course there was nothing. Nothing to fight the growing urge to vomit as she remembered the door flying open and the first of them charging into the room, stained with the blood of the best friend she had done nothing to save. They'd been on her in an instant, of course – her worst nightmare had been coming true right before her eyes, and she hadn't even tried to run. Because she had seen it all before, just once then, and Hanyuu had promised her it had just been a dream.

_I'm sorry._

Rika had wet herself, as those hands had wrapped around her throat. She was ashamed of it now, but back then she had barely noticed. She had been too busy trying to scream.

_I'm sorry._

The screams never came. Not that night, though she had tried and tried and tried. She had known, even then, that she would wake up again.

_I'm sorry. _

If she could scream, if she could deafen herself and block out everything but the sound, maybe she wouldn't have to remember Satoko's scream, stolen away.

_I'm sorry._

The voice echoed in her head, and she clung to it. It was nothing, a lie from a liar, but it was everything – a comfort from the only friend she had left.

_I'm sorry. _

Her vision blackened, her lungs spasming as she tried desperately to breath. She hadn't wanted to die. Back then, she still hadn't accepted it as inevitable.

_I'm sorry. _

She didn't know when or how she had staggered into the kitchen, but she was there, reaching for the cupboard's handles with her hands clenched into fists. With some effort, she forced them open and realised that her palms were bleeding. As she stared at barely visible outline of her hands, she couldn't help but laugh. A broken bark of a thing that she quickly stifled – Satoko was sleeping peacefully, and Hanyuu's snores echoed through the house. She didn't want to wake them. Satoko deserved her rest – the day ahead of her would be a big one - and Hanyuu couldn't be trusted to keep her mouth shut.

Rika was fine. There was no need to worry them. She wasn't drinking. She was just knelt on the kitchen floor in the darkness, starting at her bleeding hands with a grin on her face, trying not to laugh like a maniac. It wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last. And somehow, that was hilarious to her.

One year. It had been one year, since the day Takano had been dragged away. A year of new challenges. New experiences. A year of nothing but warm friends, smiling faces, and a beautiful, shining Hinamizawa. No death. No bodies. No screaming and begging for mercy. Not outside of her head, anyway. And they had all changed. Become stronger. Keiichi, Rena, Mion and Shion. Satoko. Especially Satoko, who help her head up high and faced each day with a smile instead of fear. Even Hanyuu had become stronger. Everyone had - except for Rika.

She let her arms drop to her side and stared at the cupboard door, thinking about what it contained. Release. Comfort. A dreamless, peaceful oblivion. If she opened the doors, she could be happy, or at least the closest she got, for just a little while. That was a good thing, wasn't it? When the sun rose, it would be Satoko's birthday. What right did she have to let Satoko wake up and find a sweat covered, shaking wreck who couldn't stop giggling about cutting her own hands open? All she needed was one drink, and she could have a good day. Satoko could have a good day. Even Hanyuu wouldn't have to worry. And it would only be once. Just like every other time.

The thought stopped her dead with one hand clenched tightly around the handle. She had been here before, again and again and again. She knew what opening the door meant – mercy and peace and a chance to smile a smile that might not have been real but but at least was _there. _But not for her. Never for her. Once upon a time it had been her father's wine, lined up carefully and off limits. But he was gone, and now it was _hers. _Row after row of bottles, waiting for Rika to clutch them to her, to choke them down, to give up.

Bernkastel. She could picture the name on the label as clear as day, but it wasn't the wine she was afraid of. Because those bottles held something else. Apathy. Bitterness. Hatred. Those bottles held darkness – _her _darkness – and it wanted to get out. It wanted to wrap itself around her and take her fear away. Take her heart away. Once upon a time she had needed that, welcomed it – but she had had other fears then, and they had made her forget the first.

She was darkness, and Rika Furude had always been afraid of the dark

Experimentally she pulled her hand away, clenching it into a fist, and found that it hurt. Her pain. Rika's pain. And Rika's blood, smeared all over her hands and all over the handle. It looked like wine. This time, she couldn't stop it – she began to laugh, softly at first but soon in manic bursts. She was addicted to herself. To Bernkastel. And Bernkastel was addicted to Rika – without Rika, Bernkastel was just a name, a label, a temptation. And without Bernkastel Rika was just a pathetic little girl without a soul who didn't deserve her name.

She wasn't sure when her laughter gave way to tears, or how long the sobs wracked her body before she felt arms wrap around her and heard that familiar voice in her ear, soft and reassuring. Satoko. Satoko, who should have woken to smiles and laughter but had instead found nothing. Nothing but an empty husk filled with wine and memories. She reached out to touch Satoko and it was too late that she remembered she was bleeding. But if Satoko noticed, she didn't care – she just pressed her cheek into Rika's palm and smiled.

Rika tried to speak. She wanted to tell Satoko everything – that she was sorry, that she should have saved her, that she had tried to scream, that she hadn't drunken any – but all that came out was a sob and another convulsion. All that ever came were tears. Tears and lies and hollow promises. But for tonight, she could be Rika Furude. When Satoko's birthday came, she would be Rika Furude. It wasn't much, and neither was she. But she was enough for Satoko, and tonight that was enough for her.


End file.
